What If
by Retired writer-Hazard 13
Summary: What would happen should Marche start out in a different town, say...Jagd Dorsa?Darkish... Possible character death...Review...May continue, but Oneshot for now.


Hazard 13: This is a Oneshot, and maybe if I actually get over three reviews, I might continue…

Death: Do not attempt this story. We all know what happened when you foolishly took a bet from your friends, and ruined a perfect idea.

Night Joe: It was at my house, too…Heh. This will probably suck also, but whatever.

Disclaimer-I don't own FFTA. Deal.

Song: English Fire by Cradle of Filth

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What if?

(a story based on the reality of what could happen if Marche was thrown into Ivalice.)

Marche returned to his room after seeing his new friends, Ritz and Mewt, to the door, after Mewt had shown him the book. The book looked like it was from another world. There was the "magic seal" around it, and there were words in a strange language.

'Probably a cheap knock-off for stupid kids like Mewt…and me…and Ritz.' He thought bitterly. It was a cold day, and even though Mewt and Ritz had come over to his house, none of them had actually removed their jackets…and neither had he, since . As he threw his jacket into the corner, he removed his day clothes, putting on his pajamas. He jumped onto his bed, and pulled up his sheets. He shivered.

'dammit, mom. Why didn't you actually get a house with decent heating?'

He got back up, and walked outside his room. He turned left, and opened up a closet, and retrieved an extra three blankets. One for him, two for Doned. The story of his life. His mother always gave him a minute, and gave Doned two minutes, leaving Marche almost alone. Sure, he could talk to Doned, but only about video games. Nothing else.

He walked back to his feet, dragging them against the carpets, trying to collect a little friction, a little warmth. As he neared his bed, he looked outside his window and thought:

'If only I could actually do something. Anything. Sword fighting, magic, whatever.'

He thought about becoming the greatest archer in the world, but discarded it in favor of a warrior with great blades, then for being a mage. As he thought about all of these ideas, he drifted slowly into sleep.

(We all know what happens)

Marche awoke against a wall, and looked around, confused. He was in a great city. As he looked around though, he saw boarded up shops and buildings, and a body hanging from a rope from the roof of a building. He stood up, and as he started to walk in one direction, he felt, against his leg, a sheath. He looked down at his waist, and saw the sword. It looked like one of those swords that gladiators used, except not like one of those fake ones in antique shops. As he stood back up, he realized that he was also wearing strange boots, and a leather vest over his other clothes.

"Where the hell am I?" he said aloud, as he walked. He looked to the sky, and saw that there was nothing but clouds.

'What the-'

"Watch where you walk, stupid human." Said the?

"…Lizard?" he choked out.

"Did you just call my friend a lizard?" the other creature asked, glaring at Marche, and grinding his teeth.

"I-didn't k-know what you were."

"Alright, I am going to teach you a lesson. ENGAGE!" shouted the lizard.

But no judges came.

"Pedro, remember…we're in a jagd. No judges." One of the lizard creatures said.

"You're right Jon." The other lizard (Pedro?) turned, and faced towards Marche. His face contorted into a grimace of happiness, as he took out a gigantic broadsword, completely black and double edged. Marche backed away in fear. His eyes dilated, and he reached for the small sword at his waist. As he backed away, his back hit the side of a building, and he ran into a rusty nail, causing it to be implanted into his skin, and for Marche to fall to the ground in pain. He fell, collecting another two nails of the way down, and also dropping his sword as he collapsed.

"P-please. I don't want any trouble." He begged, as Pedro leaned his broadsword against the side of the building, and was picked up. Pedro hurled him at a small shack, and the small wood pieces collapsed inwards on him as the two sadistic bangaa started to walk towards him. After a few more whacks and beatings, Marche was almost unconscious with pain. Finally, as Jon took a rock to his right arm, he felt his arm sickeningly crack, and as the blackness started to take him, he thought about how he would die, nameless, in a place he did not even know, and a lone tear swept down his face as he succumbed to the darkness.

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Hazard 13:Isn't it happy? Review, and I might make another chapter...

Night Joe: Finally something worth writing.

Death: Another soul for me.

Hoboslayer: Can I stick his head on a pike?

Night Joe: maybe that pike is up your-

Hazard 13: Review people!


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